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Nama-nori ties us to the taste of winter, when the cold waters and bright sun raise the best nori while nanohana is a harbinger of spring. When brought together, this inspired dish eloquently expresses the current in-between season...

Ten years ago this week I moved to Japan, into the little house on the hill that Hanako had built for us. We'd wake in the mornings under a mountain of blankets, our breath visible in the frigid air and spar over why the other should be the one to...

There will never be a white Christmas in Mirukashi. If we get snow it comes only in flurries and dustings that don’t stick. But I consider the kaki trees my consolation. Driving the country roads, it seems the hills are dressed for the holidays...

After hours and hours on planes and trains, a taxi dropped us at the foot of our little hill. In the dark we hauled suitcases up the path to our door. I turned the key in the lock and entered, breathing in the familiar aroma of the cypress beams that frame our little Mirukashi home....

From the moment you step onto the damp flagstones in the grand genkan, you feel you are walking away from the strains of reality outside its walls. The beautifully maintained building is over 100 years old. Colorful carp glide through cool water under open walkways. ...

It is said that figs are the sweetest fruit, and that perhaps the fig and not the apple, tempted Eve. It was after all the leaves of a fig tree that she chose for cover. I too would be more tempted by a sultry fig, its thin purple-black skin stretched taught over a teardrop sac...

Settle in, pour a glass of wine if you’d like, put on some good music and commit, commit to the time it will take knowing that, if you’re like most of us and work a steady job, cooking will not just be a part of your evening, it will be your evening....

Over the course of week we toured markets, observed harvests, clam cultivation, and a Padron pepper farm. We dined at local restaurants and the Wakuden chefs cooked several meals, interpreting the local ingredients and flavors through a Japanese lens....

Golden yellow rice fields stretched up the hill. To my right a stately tree reached its branches toward me as if to offer its urchin-like fruits. But I, the tallest if our trio, could not reach the prickly orbs from where I stood, try as I might, thighs pressed against the metal guardrail....

Kuniko seemed less than enthusiastic. She’d been out in the yard watering plants and raking under a sun that still burns hot in Mirukashi this time of year. “I’m tired,” she said, her voice trailing as she disappeared down the hallway. It was poor timing on my part to ask her...